


something so wholesome about you

by ghoultown



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 4+1 Things, Established Relationship, FLUFFFFFF, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Ryan Bergara In Love, Shane Madej In Love, Short & Sweet, That's it, lazy writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown
Summary: shane likes kissing ryan on the forehead. that's it, that's the plot.





	something so wholesome about you

**Author's Note:**

> here's some collateral for the absolute murderous monstrosity that has been the last fic. it might be badly written, but it's fluffy for sure.

1.

The first time Shane does it, Ryan is disgusted. 

They’ve been together for about five months, testing waters yet overwhelmingly normal. The show hasn’t been affected, work has been a breeze. The only difference between life pre-relationship and now was that the car situation was different and they had a morning routine alongside their usual lunch routine. Nothing major. 

Shane is standing over Ryan in the parking lot of the grocery store, the trunk door reaching over them like a protective umbrella, Ryan’s arms full of bags and Shane’s hands outstretched to take them. The sun is starting to go down. The street lights are flickering on. 

When Ryan starts whining, swinging the bags forward and trying to get Shane to  _ help me for once!!!!,  _ Shane seems to just stare at him, eyes flickering around his face as if to log every detail to memory. As if he hasn’t already. 

“Will you  _ help  _ me?” Ryan holds his arms up, hissing as the bags dig into his forearms. “Shane, you have a lot more arm than I do.”

“You’re right.” Shane says. He doesn’t move a muscle for a few moments before taking a breath in. He leans forward, pressing his lips to the space above Ryan’s nose, right between his eyebrows. 

There’s a beat. The breeze rustles the plastic bags. 

“What the fuck was that?!” Ryan asks, his nostrils flaring. His eyebrows are scrunched up and his eyes are wide. 

“... A kiss?” Shane tilts his head. He reaches for a bag but Ryan shakes his head, holding them away petulantly. “What, am I not allowed to kiss you?”

“That wasn’t a kiss, that was an abomination.”

Shane squints, smiling in that subtle way he does when Ryan is being an ‘idiot,’ “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Forehead kisses aren’t  _ kisses _ , Shane, they’re like… first base for kissing, you know?” Ryan’s skin seems to be screaming under the thin, sharp handles of the plastic bags. Shane looks at them worryingly. “You forehead kiss someone when you’re too shy to kiss ‘em for real.”

“Yeah, but…” A laugh struggles its way out of Shane’s mouth, “Ryan. Are you saying that… are you trying to gate-keep my ability to kiss you?”

“No, I’m just saying.” Ryan hauls the bags into the trunk himself, even as Shane puts his hands on his hips with a frown. “We’re not teenagers, and you should just kiss me like a real man.”

“You’re so stupid,” Shane says. He reaches up and slams the door closed. “Your hair’s all pushed back. It’s cute. Your forehead was enticing.”

“Stop.” Ryan cards his fingers through his own hair, greasy and unwashed (because they’re just at the store, no need to go crazy), bringing it into his face. “There. No more.”

“You still look cute,” Shane says, walking around the side of the car. “But in a feral mongoose kinda way.”

“Good.”

2.

“Your hair is really soft after you wash it. Did you know that?”

Shane is standing over him, casting the entire stovetop in shadow, as Ryan attempts to make ramen for dinner (at 1 am). They’re both tired from editing and revising scripts, having been sat side by side (knee to knee) on the couch for nearly ten hours. 

The tall man has one hand on Ryan’s hip, one tangled in his nearly-dry hair, messing with it mindlessly as he watches Ryan stir. 

“It makes sense that it would be soft,” Ryan says patiently. “We got that conditioner, remember.”

“Oh, yeah.” Shane nods. “I still need to try that stuff.”

“Will you get me a bowl?” Ryan asks, not turning around to look at him. He’s  _ very  _ concentrated. 

“Sure thing.” Shane backs up as far as he can go without retreating, wishing the cabinets were a few feet closer so that he wouldn’t have to draw his hands away from Ryan. Eventually, he comes to terms with reality and drops his hand. He grabs the bowl as fast as possible before returning to his place behind Ryan.

“Thanks,” Ryan says. He holds his hand over his shoulder, still completely focused on the pot in front of him. He opens and closes his fingers a few times, like claws. “Gimme, please?”

“Uh uh.” Shane says with a smile. Ryan turns his head, raising an eyebrow. “Come get it.”

“Shane, I can just - “ He tries to reach, quick, but Shane holds it up higher. Ryan glares at him. “Shane.”

“What?” He’s so smug. 

“Pleaaaase,” Ryan grasps for it again. Shane presses the bowl against the ceiling. Ryan leans up on his tiptoes to follow it. Shane dips his head down and kisses his forehead, quickly. Ryan drops back, as if he’s wounded, and crosses his arms over his chest. He suddenly looks like a toddler. “What did I say.”

“You said please.”

“Shane.”

The tall man looks behind him as if Ryan may be talking to some other Shane in their small apartment. He looks back to Ryan, poking himself in the chest inquisitively. “You talking to me?”

“Stop with the goofy shit.”

“Can’t,” Shane says. He slowly lowers the bowl and places it into Ryan’s waiting hands. 

Ryan shakes his head, “Don’t ever do that again.”

3.

Maybe Ryan wants Shane to do it again. 

He finds himself craning his neck more, pushing himself into Shane’s line of sight, standing in front of him and looking up with those soft eyes. Anything. He pushes his hair back, wears caps that keep the stray hairs out of his face, a perfect expanse of forehead for Shane to kiss. 

Sure, Shane’s been stressed about work. Ryan gets that. But the hand holding and hugs aren’t  _ enough.  _ He feels touch starved, even as Shane drags his fingers up and down Ryan’s side. It’s as close as they can get, yet Ryan’s forehead starts burning.

He looks over to Shane, whose attention is completely focused on the laptop screen, fingertips of his free hand tapping and dragging across the touch pad. Ryan is jealous. 

“You know, that’s not good for you.” Ryan’s voice almost quivers. He curses himself in his head. Shane blinks, turning his head just slightly enough to see. “Staring at a screen for… like, two hours on end.”

“Sounds a little like the pot calling the kettle black, m’dear,” Shane smiles softly, tiredly. Ryan feels a flutter in his chest. 

“Maybe you’re not listening hard enough.” Ryan isn’t sure why he’s so grumpy. Maybe from the lack of sleep, he tries to tell himself. But something about being so close to Shane, yet still not the center of attention, was maddening. 

Shane closes the laptop. The room grows slightly dimmer. Shane looks down at him, “What’s up, Ry?”

“Nothin’!” Ryan pushes himself impossibly closer, though he still keeps his head in Shane’s lips’ reach. “You know. Just here. With my Shane.”

“Damn right.” Shane leans close to kiss him, but pauses, thoughtfully, eyes straying upwards. 

Ryan smirks. He lets his head fall forward, silent approval.  _ At last.  _

Shane meets him halfway.

4.

Shane yanks the earbuds out of Ryan’s ears. Ryan, disgruntled and sleepy, grunts at the sudden absence of Outkast in his ears, looking up at Shane as if to ask  _ why have you forsaken me?  _ It’s eight in the morning, an early start after a late night. The incessant drone of loud music is all he has keeping him awake, a life line.

Shane simply untangles the cords, tugging and pulling them through each other, before plugging them back in and pushing the buds back into Ryan’s ear. He punctuates his good deed with a gentle kiss to Ryan’s forehead. 

Ryan hums [and waits for Shane to turn his back, so that he can smile].

5.

Shane gets sick, again. Germs seem to love him a lot. Not as much as Ryan does, though. 

Ryan forces him to shower, pushing him into the bathroom after ripping the comforter (lovingly) from his body. “It’ll make you feel better,” he says sweetly, closing the door behind Shane. 

Shane just wants to get back to sleep. He rests his hot forehead against the cold wall, letting the water hit his back, his shoulders, his neck. Despite just waking up, every moment since he first opened his eyes has completely drained him. Admittedly, he takes slightly less time than he knows he should, simply because he knows that Ryan is outside the door, waiting. Probably with comfort. 

He leaves his clothes in a heap on the floor beside the cabinets, wrapping his lower half haphazardly in a towel that’s much smaller than he anticipated. He grasps the material with both hands, staring at the closed door with a defeated expression. So close yet so far.

“Hey, Ry?” He says quietly, voice precariously raspy.

“Yeah?” Ryan is right outside the door, “You okay? I’m here.”

“I can’t open the door.” Shane looks down at the situation he’s put himself in. His skin is prickly, his nerves trying to communicate to him that he needs to _lay down_ _right now._ “I’m… the towel is too small… my hands are out of commission right now.”

“The… the towel is too small?” There’s a threat of a smile in Ryan’s voice. 

“Yeah, I’m trying to cover myself. Like a…” Shane takes a moment to wet his lips, his mouth dry. “Like a decent… lady, or something.”

“Shane, I really… I  _ cannot  _ stress enough that I’ve seen you naked before.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Just open the door, please. I want to sleep.”

“As you wish.”

It takes far too long to get Shane settled back in. His limbs are a major hindrance to the efficiency of the matter. Ryan shoulders his weight.

He’s been the chauffeur to several drunk outings with age-old friends, being given the responsibility of getting several wiggly, uncooperating bodies into several black cars outside of a bar. He’s had to carry people before, and he’s always been eternally frustrated with how long it takes, how hard it is to gather them up and get them to move. It’s inherently maddening, trying to make someone walk when they don’t want to. 

But somehow, as Shane is leaning his entire body on him, Ryan can’t feel anything but happiness. He figures this is simply because Shane is good, because he cares. Because he keeps whispering “I’m sorry” into Ryan’s hair. Ryan assures him that it’s fine, because it is. 

Finally, Shane is down for the count. He falls onto the mattress with a thud, using all of his energy to flip over on his back and shuffle over to place his head on the pillow. Ryan tucks him in, wriggles his way into the bed, under the covers, arm around the sickly man’s shoulders. 

Shane hums and looks up at him. “Thanks. Sorry.” His eyes flutter closed and he sighs. His shoulders relax against Ryan.

Ryan glances down. He feels the urge, his lips tingle. He goes for it. 

He presses his lips to Shane’s clammy forehead. One of Shane’s eyes opens, suddenly full of light. 

“What?” Ryan asks, feigning innocence. He settles back into the pillows, content. “I don’t want your fuckin’ germs.”

“Right, right.” Shane starts to doze off with a smile on his face. “Of course.”


End file.
